


Stopover

by trollmela



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Lovers to Friends, M/M, Minor Reaper | Gabriel Reyes/Soldier: 76 | Jack Morrison, Pre-Recall
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-06
Updated: 2020-09-06
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:22:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26323333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trollmela/pseuds/trollmela
Summary: Vincent was a back-man. It didn’t have quite the same ring as “ass-man” but it was true. And if anyone were to ever ask him: the greatest shoulders and back Vincent had ever seen were Jack Morrison’s. Vincent would swear on many things that the guy up there, just from looking at his rear, was Jack Morrison standing next to the grave of … Jack Morrison.
Relationships: Soldier: 76 | Jack Morrison/Vincent, Vincent/Original Male Character
Kudos: 7





	Stopover

**Author's Note:**

> The rating may be a bit over-cautious. Sex is mentioned and that's it. The Soldier/Reaper pairing is also only mentioned, and it's suggested that their relationship wasn't healthy. Vincent/Jack is obviously in the past.
> 
> This story was inspired by Vincent, or rather: I extrapolated a lot from the little said about him and his relationship with Jack in Bastet.

Vincent was a back-man.

It didn’t have quite the same ring as “ass-man” but it was true. Vincent appreciated his lovers’ backs, from the shoulders down to the hips. He loved to kiss them, trace their shoulder blades with his tongue and bite down the length of their spines until he reached their buttocks; obviously, he moved on to those at some point, just like other ordinary gay guys, but from what his previous boyfriends and current husband had told him, he spent much more time and enthusiasm on backs than other people.

If anyone were to ever ask him, the greatest shoulders and back Vincent had ever seen (and kissed and licked and bitten) were Jack Morrison’s.

Vincent had been married for six years now, he loved his husband Mark very much, and Mark had many attributes that made him the better choice in life partner than Jack Morrison; but Jack definitely had the hotter back. Had had. Or still did?

Because Vincent would swear on many things that the guy up there, just from looking at his rear, was Jack Morrison standing next to the grave of … Jack Morrison. Vincent looked down. Same flat ass, too. Because you couldn’t have everything.

The guy turned, muscles tensed and ready to fight, clearly having become aware of someone staring at him. Their eyes met, and Jack froze. Jack. Definitely Jack.

Vincent was fast. Not as fast as a soldier, not as fast as Jack had been (was?), but fast enough to close the distance between them, grip Jack’s coat with both fists and pull him in before the other man could run.

“Jack?!” He would have shouted the other man’s name if he’d had the breath for it.

Jack’s throat bopped.

“Hey Vincent.”

“Seriously? That’s all you’ve got to say?!” Vincent hit his palm flat against Jack’s still ridiculously muscled chest. Then he wrapped his arms around Jack and held on as tightly as he could.

He held on for a few seconds, then pulled back to look into Jack’s face again. It was old and hurt. Not of recent injuries but scarred with old ones. Weary.

“Jack,” Vincent’s voice was still strangled by emotion. Finally, his brain made the connection to other words: “You’re coming home with me.”

* * *

It took surprisingly little to convince the other man. As discreetly as Vincent could, he shot off a message to Mark that they were having a guest over for dinner. He also refused to let Jack drive his own car.

“I’ll drop you off back here, but I’m not letting you out of my sight.” He blinked away tears and looked over at the other man as if he was likely to go poof into thin air. Considering that his passenger was supposed to be dead, who knew. He sniffed.

“So… come to your own grave often?”

Jack winced. “First time actually. I came for the others. Not all of the graves are empty.”

“Good to know that they didn’t bury some other poor bastard’s remains.” He breathed.

“Are you sure you want to take a wanted man home?”

Vincent smirked. “You were always a wanted man, you just didn’t notice the other guys, let alone the girls.”

Jack huffed. “Vincent!”

Apparently, he’d gotten grouchy with age.

“Relax. There aren’t that many people who still recognize Jack Morrison.”

“Maybe not Morrison. But I’ve made a name for myself with a different identity.”

“Oh yeah? Does that have anything to do with the break-in in Watchpoint: Grand Mesa?”

“I thought you’d avoid the news now that you could.” Vincent had sworn that, once the war was over, he’d never watch the news again.

“Even I listen when bases of my ex-boyfriend’s organization get hit. Should have known it was you. You’ve always had a hard-on for the big-ass guns and I’m betting that fancy experimental rifle was Overwatch’s biggest.”

He didn’t remind his ex that this weakness had led to Vincent getting asked a few times whether Jack had anything to compensate for. Even years ago, Jack had found that a lot less funny than Vincent.

“Not my organization,” Jack denied.

Vincent blew out a breath. Maybe now wasn’t the time to say it but…

“I wondered a hundred times why you didn’t resign.”

“I thought there was something worth saving. That Overwatch was doing the right thing.”

“You sound like you’ve changed your mind.”

“Guess I had to.”

Vincent took one hand off the wheel and reached for Jack. He ended up getting his arm and he kneaded the skin and muscles there, ignoring the initial flinch from Jack. The other man didn’t pull away, he’d take that as consent. A lot of the scars under Vincent’s fingers were new; there were lines, straight and jagged ones, entire areas Vincent guessed were burn scars.

“So, what are you doing in DC?” Jack asked.

“Mark was offered a position at the Georgetown University Hospital here six years ago, so we moved to Virginia. As for me … I got offered a partner position last week at the law firm I work for. I’m still thinking it over. I’m not sure if I want the responsibility or the longer hours. All that stuff you know except on a smaller scale. Just under a hundred employees.”

Jack huffed a laugh. “Responsibility ages you quickly, I can tell you that.”

Vincent saw the other man giving him a once-over from the side. He was pretty sure he recognized the look; it was the same as years ago when they’d been in love and Jack was probably thinking what Vincent had thought earlier: the years had been a lot kinder to Vincent.

A palm much rougher than he remembered returned his touch just as Vincent pulled up at his home.

* * *

They were welcomed inside by the reproachful meowing of a calico cat. Jack stared at her.

“You have a cat again.”

“Yeah. Her name’s Mouser.”

Jack chuckled. It was the first sign of humor Vincent had seen so far.

“I guess I don’t have to ask who named her.”

“Nope, if you think it was me, you’re absolutely right. And no, her name doesn’t do her justice at all, thank god.”

“Hey, hon’,” Mark greeted them, coming in from the kitchen. He bussed Vincent’s cheek, but his eyes were on Jack. “You’re lucky I bought too much chicken yesterday. There’s only so much one can do with extra rice.”

“Can’t be that bad,” Jack said.

“Mark, this is John, a friend of mine,” Vincent introduced. “I ran into him.”

“John, nice to meet you.” Mark reached out and they shook hands. “Though I thought you went by Jack.”

Vincent grimaced. Clearly, he wasn’t great at subterfuge, and his husband had a very good memory of faces and names. He supposed his distress when the Overwatch HQ in Zurich exploded had been memorable.

“Should I go?” Jack asked calmly.

“No,” Mark shook his head. He looked him over critically with what Vincent called his ‘doctor face’ on. “You look like you could do with a few meals. If nothing else, there’s still desert. I’m Mark, by the way.”

Dinner went by fine. Vincent was lucky in that Jack and he had been on friendly terms even after their break-up. Letting go had hurt, and Jack had often wound up calling Vincent when he needed an ear long after they’d gone their separate ways. He knew that didn’t happen to everyone. Mark, in fact, had had pretty bad taste in boyfriends and wasn’t on speaking terms with any of them; he even had a restraining order on one of them. He and Vincent had only found themselves dating because one of Vincent’s coworkers had set them up.

They stuck to harmless conversation, talking about old places they’d been at together and what had happened to this restaurant or that bar, how Vincent’s sister and family were doing, and Mark contributed some interesting tidbits on the brains he’d had his scalpel in that week. Jack didn’t reciprocate with stories of people he’d injured or shot at, which was probably a good thing, but he did let on that he’d traveled around quite a bit since Zurich.

“There’s a daybed in my office,” Vincent said after dinner. “It’s not big, but cozy enough for a few nights.”

“Vince… I shouldn’t stay for too long.”

“You’re not staying for too long. A week, okay? You can rest. Don’t tell me you don’t need that.”

“I can’t promise you a week.” 

“Let’s start with two—three nights then!”

Jack gave Vincent a look, went into the kitchen, took a dish towel and started drying a kitchen knife Mark had just washed. Vincent’s husband refused to put the sharp knives in the dish washer. Vincent leant against the nearest counter and watched them. Jack might be a lot grumpier these days than he had been before, but, underneath, he was still a nice guy. Unlike Mark, Vincent had always gone for the nice guys.

* * *

The first night, something woke Vincent up. He blinked at the dark ceiling, then over at the orange digits of the clock on Vincent’s nightstand; it was 4 AM. He didn’t usually have trouble sleeping, with some few exceptions. No noises came from the living room or the direction of the office either. Still, what were the chances of Jack leaving?

Vincent got up. To his relief, he found Jack standing at the window in the living room, looking out into the night and the few lights visible. There was a tired slump to his shoulders, another change Vincent noted only now.

“Did I wake you?” Jack asked quietly.

“I don’t think so. But once I was awake, I wanted to check that you were still here.”

“I’m not running.”

“Good.” Vincent finally walked over and put a hand on Jack’s shoulder. He could do this at least. Vincent could head back to bed any time, he knew Mark was waiting for him there and would hug the stuffing out of him if Vincent needed it. Jack couldn’t do that; wherever he went next, he’d do it alone and Vincent assumed that Jack’s road had no defined end where someone would be waiting for him. He would have hoped for something better for Jack.

“Is the daybed not comfortable enough?”

“The bed’s fine. Better than what I’ve had for a while. Just dreams and aches.”

“Did you get hurt?”

“Not recently. But I suppose old age catches up even with SEP participants.”

“Are you sure that’s all it is?” Vincent frowned. Sure, he wasn’t young anymore either, his hair going more salt than anything close to pepper, but he wasn’t at the aching bones phase yet. Jack was the same age.

Jack shrugged. “Not like I can ask anyone.” He finally tore his gaze away from the window and gave Vincent a fond look. “Don’t worry about me. I took some biotic fields at the last Watchpoint.”

“I hope they don’t have an expiration date then. I’m surprised you found any at all in what are supposed to be empty bases. Where are you planning to next?”

Jack hesitated.

“Okay, you don’t need to tell me, but please tell me that you have a plan, Jack!”

Jack frowned grimly. “The plan is to find out who infiltrated and bombed Overwatch.”

Vincent nodded. “You know that nothing came of the original investigations?”

“Doesn’t matter. They were wrong. I was blind, just like Gabe said.” 

Vincent shrugged. “I remember some of the issues you told me about back then between the two of you. Dr. Ziegler said after the explosion that Gabriel never forgave you for the promotion.”

“That wasn’t the only problem. There were … more personal aspects to it.” Jack hesitated, then he revealed: “We had sex.”

Vincent nearly choked on his own spit. Jack and Gabriel?

“Wasn’t he married? I’d never have pegged him as bi. And you know my gaydar is pretty reliable.”

“He was just getting divorced. And I’m not sure he would have registered on your gaydar after we had sex either.” Jack grimaced. It hadn’t been about handholding and fancy restaurant dates then. And Jack’s face … Vincent knew his ex way too well. Should have become a psychologist after all instead of a lawyer.

“You didn’t just have sex,” Vincent realized. “He fucking ploughed you!”

Jack Morrison did not have kinks. He liked his sex regular, no extras, thank you very much. If anybody ever came at him with whips and chains, Vincent was sure that Jack would hang the other guy off the ceiling in preparation for torture rather than sex. But from time to time, Jack liked to be taken hard. Not with bruises, although he didn’t mind a few of those, but in a way that left him too strung out to talk, half passed out, preferably after multiple orgasms and getting his prostate pounded harder than Vincent was able to stand.

Wearing Jack out was hard work. The few times Vincent had managed, he’d collapsed from the effort, feeling even more exhausted than Jack. And the first time they’d fucked that brutally, Vincent had worried that it was a sign of the war entering their bedroom. 

The Gabriel Vincent had met (and seen or heard about) would have been capable of putting Jack away wet, physically as well as mentally. Vincent just hadn’t thought that he’d ever go for guys. If he’d made an exception for Jack just for that, it wasn’t a good sign.

“Oh Jackie!”

He wasn’t going to probe a sore wound by pointing out that Jack had been the one who always said that one shouldn’t sleep with coworkers one couldn’t do without.

“Yeah, I screwed that up, too,” Jack covered his face.

Vincent wrapped an arm around Jack’s shoulders and reeled him in until Jack put his head on Vincent’s shoulder. He didn’t look to see if Jack cried.

* * *

Vincent didn’t have time to get used to seeing Jack in his house, taking naps in the afternoons like an old man with Mouser sitting possessively on his chest. He woke up on Monday to find Vincent’s side of the bed already empty and the man himself in the kitchen making breakfast. He was alone, where previously Jack had always helped with kitchen duty.

“Jack left early,” Mark told him. Vincent didn’t need him to say that it was for good.

He released a breath. “Did he say where he was going?” He walked over, leant up against Mark and looked over his shoulder at the eggs sizzling in the pan.

“No. I made him take a med kit. I brought some stuff from the hospital that I thought might work for him based on what you told me. Strong painkillers, biotics, sleep aids, bandages, that kind of stuff.”

Vincent pulled back to look at his husband with amazement. This was why he’d married this man. Vincent kissed him, once on the nape, then on the corner of his mouth, finally on the lips when Mark turned his head towards him.

“I love you!”

“Love you, too. You have good taste in boyfriends. Or rather,” he grinned. “Had. No more boyfriends for you.”

Vincent laughed. “Don’t need them, got myself a husband for the rest of my life.”

“Don’t you know it. Go sit down, you can shower after breakfast.”

Vincent obliged.

“Did you really steal a super-soldier med kit for my ex?”

“I didn’t steal, Vincent. I’m a brain surgeon. I can get my hands on a lot of things legally. You won’t be seeing any videos of me raiding my workplace on the news. And if anyone asks: I helped a hero. He just happens to be my husband’s ex.”

He finished the eggs and split them onto two plates. Once he’d sat down, Mark admitted:

“I liked Jack. I told him he could come by again, but he didn’t look like he’d take me up on the offer.”

Vincent sighed. “No, he probably won’t.”

He hoped anyway that he’d at least hear from Jack again; hoped that Jack found his peace, that he wouldn’t travel the world from one end to the other, always alone on his search for revenge until someone shot faster than he did.

Vincent supposed that he’d be watching the news again at least semi-regularly.


End file.
